


why's it so, so easy with the lights down?

by tmylm



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Bechloe AU, Co-workers, F/F, Hooking up, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:47:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26774626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tmylm/pseuds/tmylm
Summary: When a one night stand turns into more than just aone nightthing...Or..."When the person you hooked up with last night turns out to be the bratty new intern."
Relationships: Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell
Comments: 36
Kudos: 234





	why's it so, so easy with the lights down?

**Author's Note:**

> Fic to go along with [this gif set](https://chloebeale.tumblr.com/post/628733265726128128/when-the-person-you-hooked-up-with-last-night)!
> 
> Title from Drax Project's _Woke Up Late_.

The build-up to this moment, to Beca shamelessly straddling, bare thighs parted and sore knees digging into the mattress, the face of some (admittedly _really_ fucking hot) stranger really had been something of a whirlwind.

In fact, Beca really shouldn’t have even been out tonight, not with her new internship beginning early the following morning. It is something of a dream for her, the opportunity to work with a big name magazine. It is a step in the right direction toward her own eventual music column, so Beca _really_ doesn’t want to mess this up. In fact, she can’t even afford to.

But, Beca being Beca… She’s nervous. The idea of plunging into a whole new environment, with a whole new set of people, _of course_ it’s going to make her nervous. So, it really hadn’t taken her roommates much time to persuade her that a couple harmless drinks would be a wise decision the evening prior. Everyone thrived from liquid courage...right? Even Beca.

Of course, a couple drinks had quickly turned into a handful, the same way a small, insignificant disagreement over a bar stool between Beca and a red-headed stranger had turned into an all out petty _war_. Vague, immature comments had turned into tension, which had in turn, somewhere along the way, been sprinkled with a small hint of _sexual_ tension, until Beca found herself pressed up against the hard wood of a slammed shut door, eager hands desperately tugging at the fabric of an unfamiliar leather jacket, until she could peel it off and discard it without regard on the floor.

Clothing now led a messy, haphazard trail toward the bed, where Beca’s thighs trembled and her body shook with the distinct vibrations of her building orgasm brought on by the flattened tongue sliding with ease through her wet, aching folds.

“Fuck,” Beca strains out breathlessly through a strangled moan. Her hands clutch desperately at the ruffled fabric of her skirt, just to give herself _something_ to hold onto. Beneath her, she can feel the movement of the other woman’s body, the way her own choked out whimpers vibrate intensely against the swollen flesh of Beca’s pulsing clit. Without even looking back, she can tell by her movements that she is touching herself, that she’s literally getting herself off as she gets Beca off so expertly with her tongue, and Beca cannot help but think that this has to surpass the pleasure of _any_ other random hookup.

(Not that she has a whole lot of experience to compare it to, but this is...yeah, this is _really_ fucking good.)

Eventually, Beca leaves the stranger’s apartment with much less energy than she’d had beforehand. The cathartic feeling of relieved tension washes over her in pleasured waves as she slips into the backseat of the Uber, and it is safe to say that, in comparison to earlier, Beca’s nerves have been well and truly calmed.

At least for now.

* * *

It is not until the next morning, when Beca finds herself having to blink rapidly beneath the harsh lighting of the much too bright, much too clean looking office building to keep herself from falling asleep, that she realizes last night may not have been the _good_ idea she’d initially considered it. Monica, her new boss—the person she will be taking all of her mentoring from and working closely under, and who admittedly terrifies Beca beyond belief—seems like the kind of woman who takes absolutely no shit whatsoever. Yes, she finds her intimidating, but Beca also finds her impressive; the kind of person she is sure she really could learn a lot from. So, Beca cannot afford to screw this up—she really, really can’t.

Unsurprisingly, Monica’s demands begin almost immediately, though her request for fresh coffee serves as something of a blessing for Beca, considering she _needs_ to get up and walk around, just to keep her sleep-deprived self alert. Coffee from the break room, of course, just won’t do, but Beca really does not mind the short trip to the Starbucks building across the street; the feeling of cool, fresh air against her rosy cheeks is a welcome one. (The smell of freshly brewed coffee also totally beats the sense-assaulting disinfectant smell of the office.)

She is in the middle of contemplating her own order, wondering whether she has the time to gulp down a small latte before heading back across the street, when she hears a soft, almost familiar giggle behind her. It catches her attention, though it is the voice to follow that causes her to whirl around abruptly on the spot.

“Small world.”

Immediately, Beca finds herself met with the sight of _those_ eyes, the same bright, dazzling blue she’d all but melted under only a matter of hours before.

She cannot help but wonder, what are the chances of running into— _wait_...

Yikes, she had her fingers inside of her less than twelve hours ago; maybe Beca really _should_ know her name.

It doesn’t quite occur to her that she has yet to respond, until she is met with another small chuckle, accompanied by the sight of ocean eyes rolling somewhat playfully. “Okay, I know not everybody remembers _every_ drunken hookup, but ours was literally last night…”

Forcing herself to properly take in her surroundings, to stop simply staring like a total idiot at last night’s bedmate because _Jesus_ , she really is even hotter than Beca remembers, Beca lets out a small scoff, eyes rolling in that same playful manner. “I don’t know,” she shrugs, feigning some form of cool demeanor, “I have plenty of memorable nights.”

She doesn’t realize quite how it sounds at first, not until she takes note of the look of unabashed amusement drawing itself onto the other girl’s features. Beca obviously cannot see herself, but she can _feel_ the way her cheeks heat up beneath that somehow intoxicating stare, and she is positive they have reddened much more noticeably than she would like. “Uh, I mean…”

Another amused chuckle cuts her off, and Beca’s shoulders slump in defeat. “You’re more annoying in the daylight,” she murmurs in heatless defense—because that’s all Beca ever really has; her non-committal, hopeless defenses. Why she can’t just say something complimentary (because last night really was a _really_ good night), she truly does not know.

It is fortunate that the other woman—whose name Beca _still_ cannot place… Did she ever even tell her?—does not seem too put out, and instead responds with a confident wink that makes Beca melt a little inside. “Guess I won’t bother asking for your number then,” she hums, sending Beca a quick wave as she heads for the door. “See you around, Bratty Beca.”

Sarcastic glare following her out of the door, Beca finds that her sheer disappointment doesn’t even get the chance to properly surface, not while she is busy mentally cursing that obnoxious confidence for being such a Goddamn turn on.

* * *

In the interest of side-stepping any more random yet entirely awkward encounters, Beca decides against the latte she’d considered ordering for herself (no matter how badly she wants it) and instead hurries across the street and back toward her new office building before Monica’s drink gets the chance to go cold.

Without so much as a thank you—she does shortly nod her head, if that counts—Monica accepts the drink, then begins to monotonously reel off various duties for Beca to take care of. It takes Monica cutting herself off to ask with a neatly arched brow and a genuinely puzzled expression why Beca isn’t writing any of her orders down for her to realize that she _really_ is out of her depth here, but she quickly scrambles for a pen and gets to work. Honestly, any job that requires her to be out of Monica’s office is one she will gladly take, so the almost overwhelmingly long list serves as a blessing.

As far as Beca can tell, she marks off each new job without much of a problem, then by the time she reaches the task that requires the use of her computer (and, in turn, the need to be stationed _in_ Monica’s office), she is pleased to find that her new boss seems to be far too busy with whatever is going on on her own screen to pay any mind to Beca’s presence. She is able to work quietly, comfortably, until a dramatically exasperated sigh sounds from the desk of the room’s only other occupant.

“Holy fuck,” Monica mutters disgruntledly to herself—not the most sophisticated, work-appropriate language, but she is the boss, so who’s going to tell her?

Beca glances her way, but it seems that she is not addressing her directly. Her deep brown eyes, crinkled at the corners, are still glued scrutinizingly to her screen, so Beca decides not to draw attention.

“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me,” Monica blurts loudly, leaning back into her seat as if literally throwing in an invisible towel.

This time, Beca takes her chances with a nervous, “Uh, is everything—” though she doesn’t quite get to finish. Monica pushes back her chair with force, jumping hastily to her high heel-clad feet and marching with purpose toward the door. Her phone is pressed harshly against her cheek, and Beca is left to simply stare in both confusion and, quite frankly, something very much akin to awe.

(Seriously, that woman really does have a total badass presence to her, there is truly no denying that.)

“Chloe Beale!” Monica yells abruptly into the phone.

Beca notes that the faint hum of idle chatter in the next room fizzles out into sheer silence within an instant.

“My office. _Now_.”

Monica hangs up the phone without explanation, then stands in the doorway wearing a look of thunder as she awaits the arrival of the person who is clearly in her bad books. Whoever Chloe Beale is, Beca definitely does not envy her.

Eventually, she hears the sound of hurried footsteps approaching, before watching Monica disappear out of the door.

“Um, everything okay?” The sound of a much too chipper voice floats through the open doorway, and Beca cannot help but think that Chloe Beale is _way_ more ballsy than any other person she has ever encountered.

“Wait in there,” Monica barks in no uncertain tone, the sound of her heels clicking ferociously following as she departs.

Beca notes a shadow first, and out of both fear and politeness, decides that averting her gaze as the newcomer enters is probably the best route for her to take. However, she is only human, and curiosity of course gets the better of her, at least long enough for her to steal a brief glance upward just in time to see—

“Bratty Beca?”

There is a smug look plastered across the redhead— _Chloe_ ’s—face, one that Beca would certainly not be wearing if she was in her position.

“What are you doing here?” Beca blurts out dumbly. It is not exactly difficult to put two and two together, but considering this is the second time she has seen this particular person in one day, coincidentally the day after spending an impromptu (really fucking _hot_ ) night with her, Beca is sure that her surprise can be forgiven.

Chloe responds with a subtly arched brow and an annoyingly charming smile. “I work here,” she says in a very matter of fact tone.

“For now,” Beca responds without missing a beat. She is a sarcastic person in general, she really cannot help it.

“What?” Chloe chuckles, arms folding casually across her middle. “Are you coming for my job or something?” In spite of her question, she doesn’t seem annoyed, so Beca thinks she is joking.

Beca shakes her head, motioning toward the door where her— _their_ —boss had departed only moments before. She watches the way Chloe’s gaze follows in the same direction, before she is quietly chuckling to herself once more.

“What, that?” Chloe waves a hand somewhat dismissively, heading with an air of comfort into the room and making her way for the large, singular chair across from Monica’s. “Monica’s loud, but that’s it. I’m not worried.” She plops casually down, and Beca realizes that Chloe probably spends a lot of time in that particular hot seat.

“I would be,” Beca murmurs, gaze moving back toward her screen.

“Of course you would, you’re a brat,” Chloe hums breezily in response, leaning back comfortably into the cushioned seat.

Much like they had back in the coffee shop when Beca had encountered Chloe earlier today, she finds that her eyes practically roll the whole way out of her head. “Why do you keep saying that?” she asks almost irritably.

Chloe, on the other hand, seems just as cheerful, just as playful as she has done all along. “Are you really asking me that question?” she chuckles coolly, brows arching in the kind of manner that silently, sarcastically asks Beca to reevaluate. “Do you not even remember last night?”

The very mention of the previous night causes Beca’s cheeks to heat up intensely. It is almost as if she had briefly forgotten, like Chloe’s presence is just _that_ comfortable to her already. Beca kind of hates that. Mentally, she is transported back to the bar, when she had, admittedly, been acting like a total brat; standing in Chloe’s way just to piss her off, scoffing sarcastically in response to any of her comments. Her mental montage moves onto Chloe’s apartment, with Beca pressed up against the door and muttering petulant snipes into their messy kisses.

And then they are in bed, and Chloe is laid on the mattress with Beca’s trembling thighs parted over her face. Chloe is playfully swatting at her legs and mumbling for her not to move, but Beca proceeds to do so anyway; her hips rock as her throbbing clit slides over Chloe’s tongue in spite of her specific instructions, and…

_Okay_ , so maybe Chloe has a point.

It is almost as if she can see the lightbulb illuminating in Beca’s mind, because Chloe’s smug grin widens at just the right time, and Beca is left to simply scoff and stare quickly back down at her screen.

“Whatever,” she mutters, “I’m not a brat.”

(She is.)

At this point, Beca is actually kind of glad for Monica’s eventual arrival. It is not only because she doesn’t want to continue this playful argument (only because she knows she will absolutely lose, of course), but also because Chloe is _really_ annoying. She’s really hot (really, _really_ hot), but damn, she’s annoying, and safe in the knowledge that Monica probably won’t go so far as to fire her (yeah, Chloe sucks, but Beca doesn’t exactly want her out of a job), she is actually kind of looking forward to watching her give Chloe a piece of her brilliant mind.

Although Monica seems to have calmed some, the pointed glare she shoots Chloe’s way as she rounds the desk to settle back into her seat shows that she is still very much annoyed. “Chloe, what the hell is this?”

Beca, attempting to focus on her screen, but of course entirely distracted by the conversation going on right beside her, chances a quick glance upward, and notes the way Chloe looks genuinely confused.

Monica’s lips purse, before she begins reading aloud from her screen: _“You should totes give Stacie a chance. You said it yourself, it’s been a while, and I happen to have it on good authority that Stacie is really good in—”_

“Oh!” Chloe cuts her off with a brief wave of her hand, “That.”

Beca doesn’t have all of the details here, but she cannot help the smug smirk she finds herself having to bite back as she pretends not to pay attention...while totally paying one hundred percent attention.

“You know,” Chloe attempts in a jokey tone, “Reading staff emails is definitely an invasion of privacy.”

Her attempt at lightheartedness, of course, falls flat, and Monica’s unamused glare remains persistent. “You’re arranging hookups from your company email now? Seriously, Chloe, what the hell is the matter with you?” She pauses to arch a brow. “Are you obsessed or something? I mean, what is it, do you have a problem?”

“I resent that,” Chloe frowns, though she doesn’t look too offended, at least not from the brief glance Beca shoots her way. “There’s nothing wrong with being a liberated woman, _but_ it wasn’t even for myself this time…”

_This time?_

“Right, so you’re just operating a Tinder service using my company resources,” Monica says sarcastically, shoulders relaxing as she leans back into her seat. Beca is realizing that perhaps Chloe was right, Monica really is simply _loud_.

“No, not a whole service,” Chloe shoots back quickly. She sits a little further upright as she continues. “It was just this one, and it was for a good cause. You can see it right there in the email,” Chloe motions toward the computer, as if making an actual, valid argument. “Aubrey’s going through some stuff right now… A dry spell. I’m just trying to help out a friend, that’s all.”

Monica has begun to look entirely disinterested, though she continues to stare at Chloe blankly. “And how many more friends are you going to _help out_ around here?”

“It’s not like that! I really was just helping a friend,” Chloe presses, the way her arms flail as she talks so passionately causing Beca to both suppress a laugh and to, annoyingly, find her incredibly fucking cute. Of course, the _bratty Beca_ comment comes back to her, and she remembers quickly that Chloe Beale is not cute, she’s annoying. Just annoying.

Monica, of course, still does not look convinced, so Chloe continues, “Come on, Mon...I’m like the Oprah of orgasms,” she motions around the room animatedly, “Every lady gets one!”

God, she’s adorable, Beca thinks.

_No_. No, she’s not cute, she’s not adorable. She called Beca a brat, and she’s super fucking annoying. Duh.

Sounding almost bored now, Monica inhales a deep breath through her nose. “Chloe, please,” she exhales slowly, clearly eager to end this discussion, “You’re scaring the intern.”

None of this is scaring Beca. If anything, it is simply amusing her, though she chooses to stay quiet; she has a feeling that despite the mention, her input is not actually needed in this particular conversation.

“Don’t worry,” Chloe shrugs, “I’ll obviously offer her one, too.”

Beca’s gaze lifts to take in the smug expression Chloe is shooting her way, and suddenly it is like she can’t hold back her own snarky comment even if she tried, nor the sarcastic _‘oops’_ expression it precedes. “Uh, you kind of already did.”

“Jesus Christ,” she hears Monica murmur, followed by Chloe hurriedly telling her not to worry, and that they go way back.

_Right_ , Beca thinks with a roll of her eyes, _Way back to last night_.

* * *

Much like Chloe had predicted, Monica does not fire her. She sends her out of her office with a harsh warning glare and a mumbled comment about keeping her personal life at home, and Beca wonders for a moment whether Monica is going to question her or not, try to validate her previous claim.

Fortunately, she doesn’t, and soon Monica is packing up her things and departing the office for the day. She tells Beca disinterestedly that she is welcome to continue to use the space until her shift ends, and Beca thanks her politely in spite of the fact that she is definitely not listening.

Beca has been desperate for coffee—the good kind from the Starbucks across the street, not the lukewarm sludge from the office kitchen—all afternoon, but afraid of bothering Monica, she has held off. However, now that her boss is gone for the day, Beca decides that a quick trip across the street really cannot hurt.

Of course, she doesn’t quite make it that far.

“Intern.”

Beca pauses in response to the echoed voice presumably addressing her. It takes her a second to register where it is even coming from, though a small backstep puts her in line with an open door, and Beca glances through to be met by the sight of neatly curled red hair and sparkling blue eyes.

The fact that Chloe has her own office paints a more reasonable picture for Beca as to why she seems to be on nickname basis with Monica—and why she can apparently get away with whatever she pleases.

“Beca,” Beca corrects with a small, halfhearted frown.

“I know,” Chloe says, using her head to motion her inside. Beca has already begun to enter regardless.

“You have your own office,” Beca comments casually—a statement, rather than a question—attempting to sound less impressed than she actually is. “What do you even do here?”

Chloe shrugs a shoulder in response, evidently not entirely interested in work right now. “Stuff. Close the door.”

So, Beca does, she closes the door without question, and it doesn’t actually occur to her that it is weird that she is evidently comfortable enough to be alone with Chloe Beale… But, apparently, she is.

Smaller, while still spacious enough, Chloe’s office is set up pretty similarly to Monica’s. The desk, with one chair behind it (currently occupied by Chloe) and two smaller chairs positioned in front, stands in the same place as Monica’s. Though, Beca has to quietly admit, it is kind of weird to see Chloe in the main seat this time; weird to see her in a position of authority—it shouldn’t really, not taking last night into account, but alas. Chloe motions toward one of the two chairs ahead of her, and again without question, Beca sits.

Chloe is coolly twirling a pen between her nimble fingers, and Beca wonders why she fixates on it the way she does at first. It occurs to her quickly, however, that it is not so much the pen she is focusing on…

“All done for the day?” Chloe questions with a tilted head. Beca notes an easy smile on her glossed lips… At least once she snaps her gaze from Chloe’s fingers, anyway.

“Uh, no,” Beca shakes her head, hopefully coming off as less flustered than she actually is. “I was just going to grab some coffee.”

As Beca speaks, she notes the way Chloe casually drops her pen, body arching forward slightly as her elbows rest coolly on the table. Beca watches her with a somewhat quirked brow, and perhaps because she finds that she is drawn to it, she notices something of a change in Chloe’s vibrant stare. It is almost as if it darkens somehow, and the very sight causes Beca’s mouth to run dry.

“Come here,” Chloe hums, motioning Beca closer with her finger.

Although she gives her a look that asks Chloe what the hell she is doing, Beca obeys the quiet instruction. Just like Chloe’s, her upper body leans closer across the desk, until Chloe’s finger is no longer motioning her in, and is instead curling alongside the others to gently grasp a fistful of the fabric of Beca’s shirt. Beca simply stares, for some reason not pulling away.

“Just so you know, it was super attractive when you pulled out the bratty attitude back in Monica’s office earlier,” Chloe husks, gaze dropping momentarily to Beca’s slightly hung open mouth.

Tongue flickering over her dry lips, Beca softly shakes her head. “I’m not a brat,” she just has the time to say, before Chloe is closing the small gap between them to push an unabashedly hungry kiss to Beca’s lips. Although she pauses for the briefest of seconds, Beca finds herself willingly kissing back, in spite of the alarm bells screeching in her mind. It is almost like last night never ended; like they simply took a break, and are jumping right back in.

“You’re a brat,” Chloe murmurs into the kiss. Beca can feel the way the corners of her lips curl upward against her own, and for some reason, she cannot help but mirror the motion. Chloe’s fingers loosen their grip on Beca’s shirt, before she pulls back just enough to whisper with darkened eyes, “Go lock the door.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! [This is me](http://chloebeale.tumblr.com).


End file.
